Smorzando
by cannedmeat
Summary: Kyle has problems with rage.


I've never written a fic (or any sort of creative writing) in my life; this is my first and maybe my last.

SP fandom please keep up the awesome fics. Seriously, this is the best fandom, thanks again for your creativity.

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Kyle thinks he hears Cartman's neck snap, but his veins are pumping magma at this point so he can only think in small, weak bursts.

Kyle realized he had a problem with rage very early on in his life. In the beginning, he tried to swallow it down but quickly apprehended that was not an option. Trying to shove rage back down made it worse, like he was trying to build a rickety dam around a fully functional waterfall and it only made the release that much worse.

It's addictive, the way anger makes him feel.

There was this article in his first year biology textbook about anger and its effects on the human body.

The debilitating effects of anger quickly drag the subject (in this case, Kyle) away from reality.

Their heart rate increases, their palms start getting sweaty, their attention narrows on details and the world around shrinks away into a black mist. The textbook read that blood flows to your frontal lobe when you're angry, behind the left eye- that's the part of the brain that controls reasoning.

Kyle considers himself a fairly reasonable person, unless he is angry; Kyle is angry very often.

Little things set him off. Miniscule comments about something he's wearing, or something he might have said incorrectly last week. Big things piss him off too.

Mainly one big, huge, enormous thing by the name of Eric Cartman.

Eric fucking Cartman, presently in a headlock, gasping for air, Kyle straddling him with his pale bony fingers wrapped around his fat neck, almost disappearing in the flesh collected there.

Eric Cartman, making sounds resembling a pig. There was a video on one of those shock sites Kenny had shown Kyle a couple of years about 1 million pigs in South Korea being buried alive to protect the citizens from disease outbreak. Stan looked away from the screen in tears and questioned what kind of sick fuck would be putting this shit on the internet anyway, but now all Kyle could think about was the way Eric Cartman's face looked as he struggled to get air through, squeaking, his eyes bright and shining and full of fear like the pigs in the video.

Pigs were smart animals, they probably knew they were going to die.

Kyle's verbal tirade ends minutes ago and he is now staring down at Cartman, almost serenely, as he watches the consciousness slowly fade from his beady brown eyes.

He feels something else. Hands, grabbing the back of his shoulder. _No, no, not now. I'm almost done give me a second._

A voice. Stan's voice, shouting in his ear, more hands this time shoved under his armpits trying to drag him up and away from Cartman's twitching body. Stan's arms wrapping around his chest, his laundry detergent scent filling Kyle's nostrils, and then Kenny's back obstructing his view as he falls over Cartman saying some words.

Another thing about anger is that you are probably not the same after the bout of rage. The residue stays in your body, affecting your senses for hours, maybe days. Even when Kyle, the subject, is completely dragged away from his source of anger, he's not okay.

Suddenly his vision is blue. Stan's wet eyes. He's in front of him, saying something but Kyle doesn't hear him because there's some loud fucking thing beating inside his head that drowns out Stan's desperate shouts.

Kyle's chest hurts, his hands throb, and a Gaussian blur begins to take over. He feels like he's slowly being airlifted; the rest of South Park suddenly looks really small, like a toy village.

Stan isn't staring at him anymore. His back is to Kyle now, next to Kenny's, brown and orange blankets of fabric hovering over something on the ground.

Oh, yeah.

Kyle wonders if Cartman is dead.

It's the first coherent thought that emerges from the cooling coal in his head as the drum slowly gives way to a loud, dull ringing.

He feels faint, surreal, like he's coming down from a high.

In large amounts, Kyle's textbook stated, anger is actually worse than smoking.


End file.
